The SCP Experience - In the Court of the Jester King | SCP-7058

Episode Date: December 11, 2023

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-7058: In the Court of the Jester King This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7058 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Jordan Grupe Website: http://jordangrupe.com/ New Book Release: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08M3ZHK1L/ref=cm_sw_r_awdo_G7796479F48T86Z6ECQN DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Working for the SCP Foundation as its ups and downs. I've been doing this since I was in my early 20s, so I've kind of gotten used to it. I guess you could say I fell into the job after they recruited me from federal prison. After a decade in this line of work, I found myself in a bunch of different departments. But I still somehow I've never gotten promoted past D-Class. That's where I'll stay until I die. and I've learned to accept it. Basically, that means I'm a grunt, a foot soldier.

I do what the bosses tell me and don't ask too many questions. As a D-Class team member, I do what the C-class team member say, and that's about it. We don't associate with A and B-class. We're not even allowed to look at those guys. Everything is carefully organized and regimented in the SEP Foundation, and we all try to stay on our lanes. My particular lane for the past two and a half years has been doing conversion radius maintenance on SCP-7058,

a Euclid class anomaly. It's a boring job, as long as you play by the rules. The rules are as follows. 1. Do not bring any paper into the holding chambers of SCP-70-58. 2. Make sure any fellow team member entering the chambers of SCP. is assessed and ensure that they are not carrying any paper. 3.

Any paper found within close proximity of SCP 758 must be incinerated immediately. 4. Instances of SCP 758 found outside SCP 758 chambers must be incinerated immediately. The reason for the rules are simple. SCP 7058 is able to replicate itself, and, All it needs to do so is another piece of paper within five meters of itself. SCP-7058 is a ticket or a stack of tickets. The kind that are perforated and tear in half so you can keep the stub.

They look like concert tickets, with a picture of a gesture's face on them. These tickets allow entry to an event, an event which no sensible human should ever want to visit. Nevertheless, I've found myself there once. of the Jester King. And that's why I'm requesting a transfer away from SCP-7058. I can never go back there. Not only because of the horrors contained in that place, but because of what I found out when I was there.

What I discovered there still haunts me every night while I sleep. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning. I was training a new guy. His name was Greg. And he seemed like he was going to fit in just. It's not like the job was difficult after all. Most of my coworkers were former federal inmates, like myself.

You'd think that would mean they were unsavory characters, but actually everyone was pretty chill. Nobody wanted to rock the boat and end up back in jail. As I told Greg about all the rules before entering the chambers, he nodded along and seemed to be following what I was saying. In actuality, Greg had zoned out almost immediately during the Chamber, the orientation. As far as I know, he didn't hear a word I said about anything. So those are the rules in a nutshell, I said, finishing my speech. For you, it just means that

you can't bring any paper into the chambers. And you definitely don't want to bring anything within five meters of it. That's 16 feet. Are you following Greg? He nodded enthusiastically. Got it, boss. Okay, let's get into the other safety procedures, I said. taking out another binder full of orientation materials. Sorry if this gets a little boring, but it's important stuff. No problem. I'm zoned in. He was somehow very convincing. After a couple more hours of going through different colored binders

and a few dozen PowerPoint presentations, I started to notice Greg's eyes glazing over, and I figured we should break for lunch. But first, I wanted to show him the anomaly. That would get him all jazzed up after the break, I had no doubt. Can we stop by the locker room real quick? He asked, on the way to the containment chambers. I got to take a leak.

I told him that was fine, and reminded him again not to bring any paper with him. He promised that he wouldn't. Once he came back, we walked over to the containment chambers and I took him inside. That's it? He asked, wandering closer to it. It doesn't look so dangerous. That's what I said the first time I saw it. But trust me,

It's dangerous. You wouldn't want to touch it. Or you'd end up right there in the court of the Jester King. Smiling mischievously. Sounds kind of fun, he joked, reaching out towards it. I know you're kidding, Greg, I said nervously. But it isn't funny. That thing's locked up here for a reason.

Now come on, let's get some lunch. My treat. He retracted his hand while taking one last look at the ticket and followed after me. As we walked towards the cafeteria, the transformations were already happening. We just didn't know it yet. By the time we reached the lunch room, everything made of paper within five meters of Greg was turning into an iteration of SEP 7058. Greg had decided to ignore me completely when I told him not to bring anything made of paper

into the containment room. When he went into the locker room, he grabbed his wallet to buy lunch in the cafeteria. His wallet contained several bills, and when he went close to SCP-70-58, it converted all of that money into more iterations of itself. More instances of SCP-7058. Most people pay with debit these days, so we didn't even notice it happening right away. We were in line getting ready to pay when someone screamed and a lunch tray fell to the floor. I turned and saw a glowing blue flame and knew we were screwed.

Oh shit, not again. Someone muttered. Greg, what did you? I started. But then I must have touched the paper plate on my tray accidentally. And it was not a paper plate anymore. Now it was a ticket granting the admission to the court of the Jester Game. I woke up inside SCP-7058.

It was exactly as described, and yet so much more horrifying than I ever could have imagined. There were different versions of this place, and each one had been described by the survivors. This one, the Colosseum, was the most terrifying in my mind. Every time I pictured it, the image sent chills down my spine. It was like I was in the movie Gladiator, standing on the dirt-packed earth at the center of the Great Roman Coliseum.

But instead of regular spectators, there were dusty, cloth-wrapped, reanimated corpses in the stands, roaring their disapproval at me. A cackling voice called from behind me. I turned to see the horrifying visage of a dead jester king right in front of me, with his many-pointed cap tipped with jingling bells and the shapes of skulls. He smiled broadly, his teeth long and narrow, as he leaned in closer to inspect me. I could smell his horrible, stinking breath as he grinned and giggled, looking at me.

And as he reached out to touch me, I saw his hand was black with macriac. He was so tall, it took what felt like forever for his long arm to finally touch me as I cringed back, unable to run, unable to move. The points of his hat looked like they were squirming and writhing, writhing like snakes or tentacles, and a few of them brushed against me, and they felt slimy against my skin. And then finally he laid his hand upon me, and I felt myself tearing into, splitting into twin versions of myself. The pain was worse than anything I had ever felt or ever would feel again. The agony was like living through death a dozen times in an instant.

And then I was whole again, and yet missing some essential part of myself. I looked up and saw a mirror reflection, but without the mirror. It was me, except it was red, bright red like fresh blood. The survivors had all told the same story. of being touched by the Jester King with his horrible dead hand. As soon as he touched you, you were split apart into two versions of yourself, one red and one blue. And then the two of you would be forced to fight to the death

to see who would be returned to reality. The loser would stay behind, and there was some speculation that the losers were the ones that made up the hordes of mummified zombies in the stands. Those tens of thousands of undead spectators watching from all around. Some said they were former combatants. As I examined the crowd more closely, I saw one man wearing an SEP Foundation uniform. His eyes tainted red from this place and its power. At that moment, I knew it was true.

If I died here, I would stay as a spectator forever. An unwilling member of the undead audience in the Jester King's court. Welcome to board of Viarai. Embarked and profited. Embarked and relaxes. Cirotay. Bookinay. Oh, that also. And profite.

Viaray, the voice that we love. From all around us, the undead roared their approval. Shouting and calling out which of us they thought would win this battle to the death. Not so fast, said the skeletal, impossibly tall Jester King. The bells atop his hat, tinkling as he bent down. He leaned forward, threatening to touches again, and that was enough to send us both reeling backwards on the dirt-packed earth. All around us, the zombie crowd groaned with disapproval.

We can't have such a simple sort of fight. You doppelgangers need to stay up all night. I hadn't forgotten who this was. Of course, he wouldn't just let us have a simple fight to the death. He wouldn't give us swords or clubs. to beat each other to death with, this wasn't going to be easy. We've all heard the stories of how the Jester King

makes his subjects duel to the death by the most ridiculous means possible. The tickle fights, the leg wrestling matches, and all the other absurd battles to the death which had been reported over the years came to mind. I wondered what he had in store for us. The Jester King had his subjects hold us down as the work was done.

done, strapping something to our hands. By the time it was done, I looked down to see a long wooden kitchen spoon duct taped in the grip of each of my hands. You know the kind I'm talking about. Your aunt probably uses one like it to stir her chili. He expected us to fight to the death using them. And believe me, that's a lot harder than you could ever imagine. My doppelganger didn't take long to attack. He pretty much did it at the same second I did. We both had the same memories, I'm assuming. We both knew that the one who lost would be trapped here, possibly forever. It was a strong incentive to win. Being attacked by an exact duplicate of yourself is a lot more terrifying than one could possibly imagine. The blue version of me looked angry and full of

rage as he came at me, swinging wildly with a pair of wooden spoons. All around us, the zombie crowd roared and cheered. He faked high and then changed levels, reminding me of my high school wrestling days. Those memories were faded and semi-lost to time. I wondered if the doppelganger had inherited more of them than me. That feeling of losing part of myself came back again. And I wondered if it was true. And if so, how much of myself had I forfeited and would I ever get it back?

Suddenly he was on top of me, pummeling my face with the wooden spoons over and over again. The audience was shouting and clapping. Their applause deafening as I began to taste blood in my mouth, and several teeth loosened from the blows. Desperately I tried to shake him off of me, but he was too heavy. I twisted and bucked beneath his weight, but couldn't get him off. Finally, he brought the wooden spoon down hard, and I ducked my head out of the way to avoid the blow, sending him off balance enough that I could throw him off of me. Revercing the position, I was now on top of him.

And was I ever pissed? No longer feeling bad about hurting this twin version of myself, I unleashed blow after blow, doing the same amount of damage to him as he had done to me, if not more. He spit out a broken tooth and head budded you, causing me to see stars and throwing me off balance. Using the opportunity to his advantage, He threw me off of him, twisting and turning his body and using his powerful arms to pin me to the ground.

The two of us wrestled and knocked each other in the head repeatedly with the wooden spoons. And it occurred to me briefly how ridiculous this was, but also, oh, utterly terrifying. If I didn't win this fight, the consequences would be worse than deadly. If I lost, I would be an undead zombie in the audience of this place forever. And I really wanted to avoid that. Still, every time I hit the man in the face with the wooden spoon, it felt like I was hitting myself with it. I unwittingly pulled my punches, feeling remorse with each attack. My doppelganger was doing the same thing, I realized.

The day turned into night, and the full moon overhead illuminated our battle. The zombie crowd roared on, their applause of approval never wavering. And all the while, the Jester King sat upon his throne, giggling and nodding his head. The skull shaped the bells atop his hat, jingling incessantly. The night wore on into morning and the sun rose over the high walls of the Colosseum, shining bright and blinding us with its light. We were both exhausted by that point. Our attacks now slowed to the point of complete ineffectualness.

We were crawling on our bellies in the dirt, attacking each other with the wooden spoons that somehow refused to break. It felt like we had been fighting forever. as if this was all that had ever existed. Maybe the real world was a dream, and this had always been my reality. That made me think of Greg back in the real world. The rotten bastard who had got me into this mess.

He hadn't paid attention to any of my safety instructions, I realized. This was all his fault. I was going to die here and live forever as a brainless, cheering, undead zombie, just because he couldn't listen to a few basic instructions. I pictured the son of a bitch's face on my doppelganger instead of my own. Suddenly, I got a second wind. I had a rush of energy and anger as I thought about the piece of shit who had caused me to wind up here. Bringing the wooden spoon down hard on my opponent's head like a club,

I knocked him down to the dirt-packed floor. His skull rattled and shook with the impact against the ground. His eyelids fluttering open and closed as he tried to stay conscious. He groaned and his eyes shot open as he struggled. to rise, but it was too late. I got on top of him, straddling him, and plunged the wooden spoon down hard into his eye, still imagining Greg's face. I dug in with the blunt end of it, working the spoon into the open space behind his eyeball, and then further and further toward his brain. The doppelganger bucked and thrashed beneath me, swinging his arms wildly and

beating me over the head with the wooden spoons clutched in his fists. The blows were hard and nearly knocked me unconscious more than once. But as I dug in deeper and deeper with the wooden spoon, his attacks slowed down and eventually stopped altogether. I realized he was dead. Until the victor goes the spoils! The Jester King shouted, as I fell off of him, utterly exhausted. When I opened my eyes, I was back at Foundation headquarters in the cafeteria.

I was covered in sweat, panting, and ready to pass. out, but I managed to look around. I was surrounded by men in protective suits and a makeshift barrier had been created around the area where the incident had occurred. Textbook containment procedure. You're back, someone said. I looked up to see a C-class badge. We've got a lot of questions for you. Greg over there says you didn't tell him about the rules, so I'll need you to address that, but you'll need to stay in isolation for a while first. Without another word, I was a lot of hauled off to a medical containment unit. There I would stay for weeks by myself, without any entertainment. This was a horrible torture in and of itself, but they said it was my punishment

for performing inadequate training procedures. It's my last day in this isolation unit. I want to kill Greg the minute I get out of here, but I'll have to stay calm. I'll need to explain things rationally, or this could end up very bad for me. They don't don't take kindly to insubordination around here. It's a good thing in my mind I've already killed Greg a thousand times over, since my imagination is my only entertainment while I'm in isolation. I just hope they don't let them anywhere near the other anomalies, or we could all be in a lot of trouble.

SCP-7058 is an extra-dimensional space which varies in shape, size, and contents between instances, but typically takes the form of a medieval courtyard. or Coliseum. The space is only accessible via skin contact with a ticket, an 8-centimeter by 12-centimeter sheet of paper labeled admittance to the Jester King's Court, designated SCP-758-0-01. These tickets have the ability to multiply by converting nearby paper products into more instances of themselves, and the range of this conversion ability has proven to be proportional to the amount of nearby tickets that have recently come into existence. Allowing for controlled conversion of a new SCP-751-01 instance once per week

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